


I’ve never been been more scared to be alone

by citizensfobmixtape



Series: The final words before I’m dead and gone [1]
Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: I hope they got to say goodbye, M/M, the tazer/kaner is if you squint, trade angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 17:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13816215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citizensfobmixtape/pseuds/citizensfobmixtape
Summary: It’s trade deadline day, and Ryan’s not on the ice.





	I’ve never been been more scared to be alone

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this the morning after the trade deadline when I was trying to take my mind off things, and I just ended up making myself more sad. Title is from ‘Folkin’ Around’ by Panic at the Disco.
> 
> None of this is real (apart from the text of Vincent’s quote) and if you see your name here, please don’t read any further!

It’s trade deadline day, and Ryan’s not on the ice.  
It’s not like they didn’t know. There had been rumours, whispers that the Preds or the Jets or whoever were inquiring, but nothing concrete.  
And then Vinnie is standing on the ice for morning skate, and _Ryan isn’t there_.

When Q comes over to start practice and Ryan still hasn’t shown, Vinnie kind of wants to run. Get off the ice, go down to Bowman’s office and grab Ryan, run away to start a new life in some nondescript town in Maine, or something.

He came into this alone and that was okay, but it was nothing like having Ryan by his side.  
They’ve said it before in the half dark, promising that whatever happens, they come first, hockey second. Vinnie doesn’t think he could play hockey anyway, if he hadn't ever had Ryan.

He does the drills in a half daze, barely noticing if any of the other guys are watching him, barely noticing anything, but Tazer isn’t hard on him when he fucks up the shot for the third time, and he hugs him a little tighter than usual when they leave the ice.

The locker room is deadly silent, the knowledge hanging heavy in the air but not spoken. Vinnie didn’t want to look at his phone, didn’t want to see where Ryan had been sent, how far away he would be, how many times they’d have to face each other next season. But he had to know.

_Blackhawks to trade 23-year-old forward Ryan Hartman to Predators._

He’s going to the fucking Preds.

The very next thing Vinnie does is call him. The line is engaged, and his heart sinks; of course the line is engaged. He’s just been traded. There are more important things for him to be thinking about right now.

Laz approaches him almost cautiously when the press are allowed into the locker room.  
‘Can I get a quote on the Hartman trade? I know you two were close.’

Vinnie let out a controlled breath, and ran a hand across his face.  
‘I don’t really know what to think, I haven’t talked to him yet,’  
It’s true, after all. He doesn’t know anything, Ryan hasn’t texted him, he barely even knows the details of the trade.

He paused, thinking of how to phrase his next words.  
‘We’re always going to remain best friends. That’s not going to change anything. We’ll always spend our summers together and stuff.’  
It’s some, but not all, of what he’s feeling. They are best friends, and he knows Ryan loves him and it shouldn’t change anything, they’re going to spend the rest of their lives together, but he can’t help that doubt as it creeps into the back of his mind.

So the next thing he says is the gospel truth. ‘Hopefully, he’s still here and I can give him a hug before he gets out of here, or go get a bite or something. I don’t know.’  
Laz looks genuinely hurt, and the other journalists look awkward and uncomfortable. Schmaltzy throws him a pointed look. He’s sat in Ryan’s stall, his own now blocked as the rest of the journalists swarm to talk to Kaner. The nameplate is blank, the place Ryan’s jersey should be hanging empty.

‘Ryan! Ryan Hartman I swear to all that is good and holy if you don’t answer your phone right the fuck now I’ll-‘ Vinnie caught himself, and took a deep breath. ‘Listen, Ryan, just... Please pick up. I love you.’  
The line goes dead, and his phone falls out of his hand onto their bed.  
There was nobody there when he got home, Ryan had spent last night at his parents’ house. His dad had wanted to talk to him, with the upcoming trade deadline, and they’d planned to meet on the rink early. Until Ryan didn’t show.

It takes three more hours for Ryan to call.  
‘Ry? Ryan is that you? What the hell is going on?’ Vinnie knows his voice is wobbly, evidence he’s been crying off and on pretty much since he walked through his door.

‘Vinnie.’ Ryan’s voice is tired and broken, but there’s always been something about the way he says Vinnie’s name that makes it sound so much better.

‘Where are you, Ry?’

‘I’m at home.’ He whispers, and Vinnie knows he’s been crying too. ‘I need you.’

‘I’m on my way.’ Vinnie grabbed his keys, charging straight out of the door, barely even thinking to put on shoes before he left.

He drove to Ryan’s parents place in the same half daze he'd played through that morning, parking kind of haphazardly, and almost running up the driveway to knock on the door.  
Ryan’s mom answered, took one look at Vinnie, and pulled him into a tight hug.  
‘Oh, Vincent.’ She said, sounding choked up, and patting him on the back when she let him go. ‘He’s in his room.’

Ryan’s room at his parents’ place is in the attic, walls still plastered with Hawks posters, the picture of them Vinnie’s mom took after their first game together at the UC still framed on his bedside table.  
There was a pile of covers on the bed that Vinnie assumed must contain Ryan, and he kicked off his shoes and padded over, throwing his jacket at the armchair in the corner.

‘Ryan.’  
The covers moved, and Vinnie could see the top of Ryan’s head, hair all mussed up.

‘Vinnie?’

‘Yeah, it’s me baby.’

‘Please.’ His voice was small, and he pulled up the side of the covers, the same way he would when they were kids and they’d hide in his bed, talking about hockey and telling ghost stories. Or when they were older, and they’d kiss and touch in the almost-silence, always keeping an ear on the door.  
Vinnie slides in, the way he always has, and pulls Ryan close to his chest.

‘Baby, baby it’s okay, it’s alright.’

He could feel Ryan shake his head.  
‘Nashville. It’s five hundred miles away.’

‘We’re in the same division, sweetheart, we’ll see each other loads.’

Ryan shook his head again, burying his face into Vinnie’s neck. ‘Makes us rivals, doesn’t it?’

Vinnie sighed. There was no way around it. They were only really rookies still, and they weren't here to rebuild the franchise; it wasn’t like they had pull with Bowman the way Tazer and Kaner had. And it wasn’t like they hadn’t known it was a risk from day one, known as the deadline approached and they lost more and more games that the risk was growing.

He knew all of that, but it didn’t stop his heart from breaking.


End file.
